Among the 87 percent
by MGtwins
Summary: A question is popped in the middle of the night. Will Joan be able to answer it?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone! We're twin sisters from Brazil who decided to write about this pair. Please, bear with us as far as spelling errors are concerned. I hope you guys like it and if you do, a review never hurts, right? Até a próxima!**

* * *

"I think we should have sex."

Joan had just gotten back from the grocery store across the street and was still closing the front door when she was surprised by that voice coming from the living room.

"I have been considering our options for a while now and after analyzing the possible outcomes for every single one of them I came to the inevitable conclusion that that is the best way for us to proceed if we intend this partnership to work."

Watson took a few more steps towards the sound only to find a sitting Sherlock facing the wall.

"Are you talking to me?" she asked confused.

"I am most certainly not talking to Angus." he simply stated while getting up to finally face her.

Joan was paralyzed for a second. She could've sworn that she heard him say that the two of them should sleep together. What was she thinking to assume he would ever say something of the sort?

"Sorry, what did you say?" Watson questioned while shoving her keys inside her back pocket and still trying to get her way with the supermarket bags.

"We should have sex." Sherlock repeated his previous words with the normality of someone who just offers another person coffee or tea. "And the sooner, the better."

Joan blinked a couple of times as if she was trying to believe in what she had just heard. She then put the bags on the floor and approached him slowly.

"Are you okay?" the doctor asked already checking for any sign that could indicate any abnormality.

"I'm fine," he answered "and that includes the absence of any sexual transmitted disease that I might had, if that's what you meant to imply."

"No!" Joan exclaimed louder than she intended "I didn't mean to imply anything." She stepped closer to him and looked into his eyes.

"You took something, didn't you?"

Sherlock just smirked:

"Do you assume that about every man who shows sexual interest in you?"

The ex-surgeon rolled her eyes and backed away.

"But don't you worry. I haven't taken, nor injected, nor smoked anything. As I stated earlier, I am fine. You can run one of your tests if you like."

Joan stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing:

"Oh! I get it. It's a joke, right?" she concluded. "You were bored so you used the time I was out to plan this. I get to that door and you say the craziest thing that crosses your mind only to see how I react. Am I right?"

"Good God, Watson! Is it really that hard to believe that a man genuinely wants to sleep with you?"

The smile on Joan's face soon faded. He couldn't be serious! Or could he?

"You can't be serious." she now actually said it.

Sherlock remained quiet only confirming what the doctor already feared. She then put her hands behind her head and let out a sigh.

"You're my client…" Watson stated the obvious.

"And that is exactly why we should do it!" Holmes cut her off before she could say anything else.

"Recent studies have shown that men and women who spend a fair amount of time together tend to develop a very particular kind of relationship. In 13% of the cases, however, the interaction doesn't differ much from a common friendship where both people involved only appreciate each other's companion and mutual interests. But, in the other 87%, this relationship takes another direction. It normally starts with a simple physical attraction that consequently evolves into sexual tension which progressively ruins the communication between the two subjects until the point of total exhaustion both physical and emotional."

Joan, who hadn't made a sound so far, decided to finally speak:

"Well, if that is the problem then you don't have to worry. I don't feel attracted to you."

"And I don't feel attracted to you either," Holmes said in reciprocity "but… (it had to have a "but") the same studies have pointed out that in 11% of those cases the attraction is not immediate, being the routine and some other aspects the responsible for it.

"Other aspects?" Watson asked less interested than what she really sounded.

"Physical aspects." Sherlock answered and didn't even wait for a retort as he continued:

"You, Ms. Watson," he pointed "with the exception of the breasts that could be bigger, possess all the attributes considered attractive by men." Almost immediately, Joan crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Long hair, delicate facial features and the right proportion between the waist line and hips."

For a moment the doctor felt embarrassed as she became more blushed than usual. Luckily enough, Sherlock pretended not to notice.

"I myself, and I'm just citing scientific data here, also have qualities highly appreciated by your gender. I'm not fat, my height is quite reasonable and apparently women tend to feel attracted to intelligent men with great sense of humor."

Joan laughed:

"You're definitely right about that last one."

Holmes didn't hear or simply ignored her comment and carried on:

"So, if we take those studies into account, the probability for us to feel attracted to each other in a very near future is alarmingly high. That's why I suggest us to get ahead of things. We have sex now, when is purely physical without any sort of feelings involved and then we can avoid a possible sexual tension later, maintaining our partnership intact where I talk, you listen and together we solve crimes.

Joan remained in silence with her eyes on his. She didn't know if she should answer, or just laugh, or even just ignore the whole situation and leave.

"So, what do you say?" Holmes asked eagerly.

The doctor simply checked her watch and grabbed the bags from the floor.

"Well, I say I'm gonna take these to the kitchen then I'll take a shower to go to bed…ALONE." she emphasized the last part and left.

"I imagined you wouldn't be able to understand the benefits of my proposal." the detective spoke and then returned to his usual seat.

Watson laughed at his last comment and after finishing storing the groceries in the kitchen, she went back to the living room.

"I can only hope that you and I represent the other 13%, I suppose." Sherlock said clearly disappointed.

"Yeah, me too." Joan agreed and directed herself to the stairs.

The silence filled the room only for a few seconds before Sherlock decided to speak one last time:

"Things would be simpler if you were a guy, Watson."

The doctor, who was already on the seventh flight of steps, couldn't help a smile on her face. Not even if she were a plant things would be simpler.

"Good night, Sherlock." she said in a low tone and continued to climb.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again people! Ok, so we were planning for this to be just a one-shot but since we've gotten so many reviews and the feedback has been amazing, we have decided to continue. Let's just hope we won't screw it up…here we go:**

In the next day, Joan woke up earlier than usual. She opened her eyes quickly, sure that she hadn't heard the seven o'clock alarm but, for her surprise, she confirmed the exact opposite: 6:02 am? That was odd. Since she had become a sober companion, Watson had developed a certain need for sleeping. She would blame the crazy hours of her clients which at several times prevented her from a decent night of sleep. Her hours as a surgeon, however, were even crazier. So maybe Sherlock was right after all, she did hate her new job and that's why she "needed" to sleep so much. The doctor shook her head, whether she liked it or not, that was her life now.

Joan even considered going back to bed but noticed she no longer wanted to sleep. She then directed herself to the bathroom in order to begin her morning routine which started by teeth brushing.

"Delicate facial features." His words echoed inside her mind while she stared at herself in the mirror. She had never stopped to analyze her own face before: the eyes, the nose, the mouth…Watson remained a great amount of time there, just staring at her reflection. "What the hell are you doing?" she mentally asked herself and then finally finished brushing.

When she was about to leave, however, her attention was again drawn to that reflection. The ex-surgeon hesitated for a moment. First, she assured herself that the door was in fact locked and only after Joan was completely certain that she wasn't being watched by anybody, she turned to the mirror and looked at her breasts. The T-shirt she was wearing, clearly two sizes bigger, made it hard for a more precise analysis. Watson then pulled the fabric back in order to make the garment more fitting to her body. "They could be bigger" and again his words. Joan continued to stare them for a few more minutes.

"I never thought they were that small…"

"WATSON!" the exclamation of her name combined with three knocks on the door scared her.

"Watson! Are you in there?" Sherlock asked but didn't knock this time.

Joan quickly fixed herself up and glanced at the mirror before opening the door.

"Can't I have a little bit of privacy?" the doctor asked sarcastically.

"You could if you lived in your own house." he simply stated.

She rolled her eyes:

"What do you want?"

Sherlock looked at her from head to toe as if he was trying to guess what she was doing in the bathroom. Knowing that he'd probably succeed if she stayed there longer, the doctor crossed the door towards her closet and pretended she was looking for something.

"I'd like to talk to you." he finally answered.

"And couldn't you wait?" Watson asked "and besides, how did you even know I was awake?"

"I heard you." the detective said. "Your pace is very light, Watson. Almost inaudible I would say. This floor, however, was made with a very specific type of wood which sensibility heightens the lowest of sounds, so inevitably I heard you."

Joan stopped what she was doing and looked at him:

"Ok. So couldn't you wait for me to get ready then?"

"I did." Holmes spoke. "After I heard you getting up from the bed, I waited exact 11 minutes and 26 seconds which is the approximate time you take to brush your teeth, wash your face and get dressed, before I came here. When I got upstairs, however, I noticed that the bathroom's door was still closed so I sat on that chair and waited another 5 minutes and…nothing. I got worried."

"You got worried?" Joan smiled. She knew that by "worried "he actually meant "curious". They just stared at each other for a few more seconds.

"What were you doing in there, Watson?"

Now she had a grin on her face. He was really curious.

"Girls stuff."

The detective seemed a little confused:

"But it's not that time of the month yet."

"God!" the doctor thought. How could he possibly know when she….? Watson just turned around and went back to her closet.

"Well, anyway you said you had something important to tell me, right?"Joan asked trying drastically to change the subject.

"I never said it was important. But you are right. I did want to talk to you and I still do" he began while heading to the door "but before that I'll let you finish your "girls stuff" whatever that is and then you meet me downstairs. I'll be waiting."

"11 minutes and 26 seconds?" Joan mocked him.

"I hope not." Holmes answered and left.

* * *

From the stairs she could already feel the smell of fresh coffee. After Sherlock had left her room, Joan got dressed and made her bed before going to their "meeting" downstairs.

Watson walked slowly to the kitchen's door and stood by it. Sherlock was still busy brewing the coffee and preparing his usual cereal with milk. Joan stood where she was, just observing him. He was right about having a reasonable height, she thought. In actuality, he even looked taller than he really was. Maybe she got that impression because of his lean figure. But he wasn't just lean. He had muscles too. And Watson could see them through the blue T-shirt he was wearing. The biceps and the back muscles caught her attention though. They were pretty strong and…

"Coffee?"

"What?" Joan was dragged from her own thoughts.

"I asked if you would like some coffee." Sherlock said turning to face her.

"Oh! Yes, please." the doctor answered trying to hide the embarrassment.

Holmes filled a cup with the black liquid and then handed it to her. Watson took a sip of the hot beverage and then closed her eyes in order to enjoy it better.

"It's delici…" Joan opened her eye only to find out she was alone in the kitchen. She took a deep breath and went to the place she knew he'd be.

"Didn't you want to talk to me or something?"

Sherlock was sitting in his usual couch, with a bowl in his hands and reading the files of some case.

"Yes! I almost forgot." he left the papers and cereal bowl aside and stood up.

"It's about what I proposed to you last night, I…"

"Look, if you're gonna insist on that, I'll…" Joan started but was cut off.

"I am sorry."

"What?" Watson didn't understand.

"If I offended you in any way. I am sorry." he said.

"You didn't offend me, I just…"

"No, I exaggerated." Sherlock cut her off again "I think I might have made hasty conclusions before the probability of us getting romantically involved" he gave a step towards her "But I do believe we can do this, you know: maintain what we have: you are my sober companion and I am your client" he gave another step "and even though 87% represent a very, very high probability I still think we will be able to manage." Holmes said closing the space between them even more.

"I mean, we are rational adult human beings and not two wild animals that cannot control their sexual impulses when too close to each other, right?" Now his body practically touched hers. If there was an inch separating them it was too much. Sherlock was staring at her with a serious expression. Joan could feel his heavy breathing on her face.

"Yeah, right." the doctor could barely articulate the words as her heart began to race.

"Good, then." Holmes said and finally backed away.

"So, now that we have worked this out," he grabbed his coat "Gregson called twenty minutes ago, apparently we have a killer on the loose." The detective put the piece of clothing on and left, leaving a paralyzed Watson in the middle of the living room with a cup of coffee in her hands waiting for her heart rate to get back to normal.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again, folks! First of all, we'd like to thank everybody who has reviewed, favorited or alerted this fic so far. So, here it goes: Thank you so much: writergirl89, Alexis,Lattelady, Ninavs2, lily, karine, anastasi, , Jen4850, mmhbrook, Jamie, Kelly, quieroValeCuatro, Pessimistic Romanticist, Vampmer, Wolf-lover-girl, lovemesometv, pitchoun, S,Dina C, Harm Marie, writerfan2013, Adamantium Stripes, Aerelon, Astrid Windhust, CMW2, Cherry Yume, Lady Paine, Loatroll, MTCS, moongrl088, Starfanatic, Trina Tiffany, blackrockx, hhanhdo, , unbadger, BaltimoreJaxs, Blooperlover, CocoSpence, Evadeen, GageWhitney, Jane Q. Doe, Libra-chan94, LindseyWasHere, Mademoiselle Else ,Miss Whoniverse, ficweaver, 93 ,lauraaldridge. We hope you all continue to enjoy reading it as much as we are enjoying writing it. Now, let's cut to the chase:**

"I don't know why Gregson calls me." a very angry Sherlock crossed the front door while getting rid of his coat "if he's not going to take into consideration anything I say, then I don't know why he bothers."

Joan followed the detective through the door keeping a safe distance:

"Gregson always takes what you say into consideration. But, sometimes, he has to investigate other leads first." she shut the door behind her and took off her jacket.

"There is nothing else to investigate, Watson." he said and turned to face her:

"I know is the cliché of the clichés but sometimes the butler is, in fact, the killer." Sherlock stated and kept staring at her for a moment before going to the living room.

"And Gregson knows that." Holmes was now walking back and forth, still mad about his friend's attitude.

"I'm sure he's just following the protocol." Joan tried "and besides, I don't think "Sherlock Holmes says he did it" could be considered reliable evidence in a trial."

"But it should." he said genuinely "I am certain that Gregson can't remember one occasion when I wasn't right. You, for instance," he pointed to her "can you point out one single time that I was wrong?"

If that question had been asked by any other person, the doctor would've been stunned by the arrogance of them. But the person who had asked was Sherlock Holmes so, even though she hated to admit, it was a fair question.

"I've known you just for a few weeks." Joan said without really answering.

"So, you cannot. Just as I imagined."

Watson rolled her eyes. In fact, she had nothing. Since she had started to help him solve cases, he had been right. It didn't matter how absurd or even impossible things seemed to be, in the end, he was always right.

The doctor had already begun climbing the stairs when she suddenly remembered:

"I know!" she exclaimed a little too enthusiastically.

Sherlock, who was already entertained by his files, was caught by surprise.

"I know of one time you were wrong." Joan went down satisfied "about what you said last night."

Holmes seemed not to know what she was referring to.

"About us sleeping together" she clarified "you were wrong."

Sherlock stared at her for a few seconds and then redirected his attention back to what he was doing. Watson just blinked in disbelief.

"You were wrong, weren't you?" Joan waited for a confirmation that never came.

"I can't believe this." the doctor walked towards him, demanding his attention. "I can't believe you're gonna do this! You were wrong! You said you were sorry!"

The detective smiled at his sober companion's reaction and finally looked at her:

"And since when being sorry and being wrong are synonyms?"

The doctor opened her mouth for a retort but decided against it:

"So, you weren´t sorry?"

"No. I was. I just wasn't wrong."

Joan reflected upon his words for a minute.

"What are you trying to say, then?" she questioned after realizing she couldn't understand anything anymore.

"It's quite simple, my dear Watson. This morning, when I apologized to you, I was being sincere. That, however, does not implicate at all that I was wrong when I suggested that we should have sex."

Now it was Watson who was walking back and forth in the living room, trying to understand all that:

"So, you don't think you were wrong?"

Sherlock nodded in negative.

"And still, you apologized."

He nodded in consent.

Joan paused for a moment before her next question:

"Why?"

"Because I knew that that was what you wanted to hear" he finally used words this time "I'm not an idiot, Watson. I am very familiar with the social conventions. I simply choose to ignore them sometimes. Last night, however, it wasn't the best time to do it." the ex-surgeon had her arms crossed in front of her chest, waiting for an explanation.

"I don't treat sex differently than I treat any other subject. For me, sex is logical and it must be done based on rational reasons, whether it is biological need or, in our case, for a greater good."

"A greater good?" Joan couldn't help the laughter.

Sherlock simply ignored her and carried on:

"Socially, however, sex is considered a taboo and it must be treated as such. Or, at the very least, we are expected to treat it as such. Women, who often like to claim themselves more liberal than they actually are, expect men to refer to it as romantically as possible which they will using of course all kinds of lies and manipulation in order to get what they're after. So, the only reason why I apologized to you for saying that we should sleep together is that I didn't do it in the right way. Or, to better put it, in the way that you expected me to."

After his conclusion, Joan remained in silence. Just when she thought that after last night nothing he could ever say to her could ever surprise her again…Big mistake.

"You can´t be thinking even for a second that with that I will agree with you, right?"

"That's irrelevant." Holmes said "You agreeing with me or not doesn't change the fact that I…"

"Was right?" Joan cut him off, predicting the end of his sentence.

Sherlock was about to reply when his cell warned him that he had just gotten texted. He made a sign with his hand, indicating for her to wait. The detective quickly removed the device from his pocket and smiled at the written words.

"What is it?" Watson asked annoyed, but equally curious.

Sherlock didn't answer. He just showed her the screen so she could read the message herself:

_The butler is our killer. The guy just confessed everything. You were right._

_Gregson._

The detective put the phone back into his pocket.

"I'm always right, Watson." Sherlock said "you may only know for a few weeks, but the truth, the irrefutable truth is that, in the end, I'm always right."

Joan tried her best to counter argue. To say anything against that ridiculous statement. But the truth, the irrefutable truth, was that he was right.

**Was he? Or he'll just prove to be more human than he wished he was? Stay tuned for more! Merry Christmas everybody! See you all in 2013!'**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello everybody! It took us a while to update because we were away in the past weeks but now we're back and ready to continue. And thanks again for all the reviews, alerts and favorites. You guys rock!**

A thunder wakes her up.

Joan sat on the bed and looked around. The street lights combined with the lightnings allowed her to see her bedroom even in the middle of the night. 3:07 am to be exact. The doctor stared at her watch and decided to lie down again. The sound of the rain, however, wouldn't let her sleep. A few more seconds later and another thunder strikes. She sat again and exhaled. Maybe it was better to just accept the fact that as long as the storm lasted, she wouldn't be able to fall asleep.

When she was a kid, Joan loved storms. She used to stay by her window, watching the rain drops and enjoying that spectacle of nature. A couple of years ago, however, that changed and now, nights like those would only bring bad memories.

A few more minutes and staying in bed had become unbearable. Watson then finally got up and headed to the bathroom. All that water falling down the sky reminded her that she needed to pee.

The ex-surgeon was washing her hands when her own reflection caught her attention. "You really need to sleep, Joan" she stated mentally to herself as she noticed how tired she was. And all thanks to their last case. Until that moment, there had been three days in a row since she got a decent night of sleep. They were after a lead that seemed to take them nowhere.

The doctor continued to stare at herself in the mirror. Sometimes all that craziness was just too much for her and even being incredibly fascinating and completely addicting (perhaps she shouldn't use that term), sometimes all she wanted was to relax and leave the whole crime solving thing exclusively to the NYPD. But, anyway, she only had two more weeks with Sherlock so even with that horrible appearance, Watson would play the detective's sidekick as best as she could. Joan dried her hands and decided that maybe a cup of tea could help her with her sleeping problems. The doctor then unlocked the bathroom's door and when she opened it:

"What the…?" she almost screamed before the shadow standing in the middle of the dark.

"Sherlock! What the hell are you doing here?" Joan asked and went to the light switch.

"How did you know it was me?" the detective questioned blinking excessively in order to adjust his vision to the clarity.

"And who else could it be?"

"A ghost, the materialization of an hallucination, a serial killer seeking for revenge because you helped to put him in jail…" he numbered "at least these were the most obvious options I assumed you would consider."

Joan was listening to him with a straight face.

"So, you meant to scare me?"

"I believe "prank" is a more suitable term. But if you want to use "scare", that works as well.

Watson rolled her eyes.

"And how did you even know I was awak…" she didn't have to finish her sentence "the floor." she remembered.

"Indeed. The floor." Sherlock agreed.

"So, you came all the way up here to play a prank upon me?" Joan used the right term this time.

"Of course not. I would never come here and waste my time only to play a stupid prank" he answered "that I decided to do after I was already here and realized you were in the bathroom. The real reason that brought me up here is because I wanted to show you this." the detective reached up his arm, holding a photograph of a beautiful blonde woman probably in her early 30s.

"Jessica Walker. She's our guy."

Joan looked confused.

"No, seriously, she's a guy." Sherlock then shoved his hand in one of his pants pockets, clearly looking for something.

"And do you know why we haven't had any progress in this case so far…Found it!" he took a piece of paper out of his right pocket. It was the copy of a page of a school's yearbook, where the face of a boy was circled in red.

"Jessica walker!" he repeated the name "before the surgeries, of course."

Joan took both photos. There was no way that woman and that boy was the same person! After analyzing the two images for a few more minutes, however, the similarities started to surface: the same eyes, the same ears…"

"The same scar on the neck." the doctor stated without believing.

"Exactly. Thanks to that tiny little scar on the left side of his neck, I was able to solve this case."

Joan was stunned.

"Jesse S. Robinson. Graduated in high school in 1997 and is missing since 2004. He was a cab driver. No family, no girlfriend. His disappearance was reported by his landlord when he went to his apartment to collect that month's rent and found the place empty. Days later, Jesse's cab was found. It had been abandoned next to Harlem. Initially, the police thought that he had been kidnapped, but quickly ruled out that possibility after no contact for ransom was ever made. After two months without any progress nor promising leads, they decided to file the case and Jesse Robinson was never seen again…"

Holmes took the photos from Joan's hands. The doctor still didn't seem to believe in all of that.

"Until now" he completed "Jesse planned the whole thing: first, he disappeared, then he used the money from his savings as a cab driver to pay for the surgeries, changed his name and just recently got married to…"

"Victor Walker." the two said in unison.

Sherlock smiled. By now, Watson had already solved the puzzle.

"So, you're saying it was Jessica? She killed her own husband!"

"And she did it perfectly" Sherlock agreed "the forensics couldn't find anything at the crime scene: no fingerprint, no hair, nothing at all except for a piece of nail on the victim's body."

"That she probably left there on purpose." Joan observed.

"It was Jessica herself who called the police after her husband was murdered," the detective pointed "she knew that that nail's DNA would lead us straight to Jesse Robinson: missing cab driver without any connection with the victim. The police would not even know where to begin the investigation and eventually they'd be forced to file the case…"

"And all Jessica had to do was to wait for everybody to forget about it." Joan completed.

The doctor was amazed. It all made perfectly sense. Victor Walker was the CEO of one of the largest cosmetic companies in the country and since he didn't have children or any close relatives, his wife was his only heir. Jessica had motive and definitely had the perfect plan.

"Do you think Victor knew she was…?" Watson paused for a moment. That was still unbelievable.

"A guy?" Holmes spoke for her "probably yes. A man hardly would miss a thing like that. But Victor must've been in love with Jessica and accepted to marry her even after he learned the truth."

Sherlock stared at a Joan still in doubt.

"You are a doctor, Watson. More than anybody you should know that the human body offers more than one option for sex."

Joan rolled her eyes, but had to fight back a laugh.

"So, how did you find out? That Jessica was lying?"

"I am glad that you asked" Sherlock began "after the police found out about Jesse Robinson, I started to investigate him on my own. Why would a missing taxi driver kill Victor Walker? It was not logical. So, after a lot of research and some failures, I must say, I finally found something."

"The yearbook." Watson guessed "so, when you saw Jesse's scar you immediately remembered Jessica's." the ex-surgeon concluded.

"You have to call Gregson and…"

"I already did. About an hour ago" the detective cut her off "and he just texted me saying that Jessica obviously denied it all but…" he paused "she also refused to give him a sample of her DNA which, in other words, usually means: guilty!"

Joan laughed.

"All Gregson needs now is a court order obligating Jessica to provide a sample of her DNA and when the test confirms she is Jesse Robinson, her last choice in life will be between Sing Sing and Bedford Hills** as **her permanent home." he finished.

"At least, she'll get to choose." Joan joked and got a smile out of Sherlock's lips.

They remained in silence for a few seconds, just staring at each other.

"Ok. I think we should probably get some sleep now, so…" the doctor suggested and sat on the bed as she was getting ready to lie down. Sherlock, however, didn't move an inch. He stood there just looking at her.

"What?" Watson asked, knowing he had something else to say.

"Why do you hate the rain?"

The question paralyzed her, but Joan was able to hide her surprise as she continued to set her blanket.

"What? Where did you get that from?" she pretended "I don't hate the rain, it's just…"

"It's the third time it rains like this since you moved in" Sherlock cut her off "and in every single occasion you behaved…differently than your usual self."

"Differently?" she wanted to know.

"At first, I thought it was fear, but that was before you went out in the middle of a storm to buy chocolate because, and I quote "PMS is a bitch". So I ruled out that possibility."

The detective gave a step towards her.

"Ergo, that only left me two options: childhood trauma or perhaps something really bad happened in a day lik…" Sherlock stopped talking. Joan was now facing the window where she could see the rain pouring outside. It was like she hadn't listened to anything he had said. There was something in her eyes that he had never seen before. The detective then knew he had gone too far.

"You are right. We should get some sleep." he affirmed and started to walk towards the door.

"It was raining when he died." the doctor said still facing the window "my patient."

Holmes stopped by the door.

"It was an emergency surgery. I was called in the middle of the night. I had just had a horrible argument with my mother so the last thing I wanted to do was to operate." she took a deep breath "not that that is an excuse."

Watson continued to stare at the glass, but she could see Sherlock's reflection sitting on the bed by her side.

"After he died, everybody would tell me that it wasn't my fault, that I had done everything I could. I even convinced myself of that for a while." she finally turned to face him "but there hasn't been a day that I don't think: did I really do everything I could?" Joan directed her gaze back to the window.

"I hate the rain because it reminds me that in a night like this, someone died because of me."

Sherlock, who up until that moment was just listening to her, decided to speak:

"I know you did everything you could. But I also know that there is nothing that I or anybody else can possibly say that will make you feel any less guilty. And I'm sorry for that, because it wasn't your fault."

He touched her hand so softly that it was almost impossible to feel it.

"I am sure you saved more lives than you took." the detective continued "You're a saver, Watson. Not a murderer."

They stayed there for what it felt like eternity.

"Thank you." She said sincerely and smiled "I didn't know you were…"

Joan didn't get to finish her sentence because Sherlock's lips interrupted her. This time, however, not with words but with a kiss.

The doctor kept her eyes opened and backed away in surprise. The detective didn't apologize; in fact, he didn't say a word and jus kept staring at her. The hell with it! Joan thought and kissed him again only this time with her eyes closed.

It was like she had never kissed a man before. Joan had her arms around his neck and by the second her grip grew stronger. Sherlock didn't seem to mind though. Suddenly they were already laid on her bed. Now, the detective was focused trying to remove the doctor's T-shirt, who reluctantly had let him go for a few seconds so he could get rid of the piece of garment. Sherlock took off his shirt as well. He was really good at taking off her and his own clothes without ever stopping kissing her. The kisses became more intense and passionate. And then suddenly it wasn't raining anymore and she could barely remember her patient's name. In that moment, nothing else mattered, but those kisses. And just like that they were gone. The doctor opened her eyes violently, searching for the lips that had just abandoned hers, but instead she found a pair of blue eyes she had never seen before. Sherlock's eyes were different than any other she could remember. It was a mix of fear, perhaps a little embarrassment, desire and something else. Something good that she wasn't able to describe. She smiled at him and he smiled back at her. Sherlock admired her for a moment longer before leaning to kiss her again. Watson then closed her eyes to receive that kiss she knew would be the most amazing kiss she had ever had and…

A thunder wakes her up.

Joan sat on the bed and looked around. The street lights combined with the lightnings allowed her to see her bedroom even in the middle of the night. There was nobody there. The door was closed, she was still wearing her T-shirt and the rain was still falling outside. The doctor inhaled deeply. "What the hell was that?" she thought and put her hands on her head. Joan had never dreamed about a client before, especially in a dream like that. She decided to lie down again. That was his fault. That was exactly what he wanted. All that crap about them having to sleep together…The idea had been planted in her mind. The dream didn't mean anything and she had nothing to worry about. There was no way Sherlock would get what he wanted, at least not in real life.

Watson turned to the other side of her bed. It was still 3:12 am. Maybe she should go back to sleep. Joan then closed her eyes, but before falling asleep again she couldn't help but remember an old friend who used to say that dreams are manifestations of our most profound desires…

**Ok! We sort of threw an inside joke in there, so let's clarify:**

**Sing Sing: it has been mentioned in the show and it is a male prison.**

**Bedford hills: a female prison located in the state of New York (that's what Google says at least!)**

**Thanks again for reading people! Hope you all liked it! See you soon.**


	5. Chapter 5

Four days had gone by since Holmes and Watson seemed to have finally recovered their former relationship. Sherlock hadn't mentioned anything, not even the minor of euphemisms related to sex (except for one or two comments that he simply couldn't help, but always referring to other people) and Joan had never dreamed about him again.

It was 8:00 am and Watson was in the kitchen, making her protein shake that she would always have before her morning jogging. Joan was particularly happy that day. Maybe it had been the great night of sleep she'd had. In fact, the past three nights had been wonderful. After Jessica's case, Gregson hadn't needed Sherlock's assistance in any other, so goodbye to horrible nights, looking for clues or investigating suspects.

But, if for Watson that crime break couldn't have come in a best moment, for Sherlock things hadn't been so great, as if he was praying for a serial killer to strike in New York. For him, the past nights had been incredibly boring and he had spent them both working in his padlocks and reviewing old filed cases. "He should relax a little bit." Joan thought. Do something that could distract him…The noise from the blender was pretty high, but not quite high enough to prevent her from noticing someone approaching.

"I was thinking that maybe we could do something later…"the doctor turned off the machine and turned around only to realize she was not talking to Sherlock.

"I'm sorry." a brunette wearing a red bra and shorts (that Joan soon realized was Sherlock's underwear) said from the kitchen's door. "I'm not Sherlock."

"And yet, you're wearing his clothes!" Joan thought.

"He's upstairs. If you want, I can call him..."

"No!" Watson cut her off "that's not necessary. I just didn't know he was… accompanied."

"I think you were sleeping when we got here last night." now the girl was opening the cabinets.

"Do you know where he keeps the coffee?"

Joan opened a drawer and took a can.

"Here." she handed it to the other woman.

"Thanks" the brunette took the recipient "I'm Isabella, by the way." she reached her arm up to greet the doctor.

"Joan." Watson accepted the handshake.

"I know, I mean, Sherlock told me you are living with him for a few weeks now…you're the…companion, right?" Isabella started to fix some things in order to make the coffee "he didn't, however, tell me you were…" the brunette paused and looked at Watson.

"Asian?" Joan tried to guess.

"No!" the girl laughed "Pretty."

Joan looked surprised.

"It must be hard for him, I imagine" Isabella went back to the coffee "to maintain your relationship strictly professional. I mean, I'm not a guy, but if I were, I'd certainly be attracted to you."

The doctor blinked. That whole conversation was just too uncomfortable. And to have it with someone you had just met at 8:00 am in the middle of the kitchen was even more bizarre.

Just when Joan was about to ask Isabella if she liked dogs only to change the subject completely, Sherlock showed up:

"Good morning, ladies." he said in a good mood Watson hadn't seen in a while.

"Good morning." only Isabella replied. The detective then went to her and kissed her. It was a silly kiss that didn't even last a second, but it was a kiss nonetheless.

Joan had never seen Sherlock displayed any kind of affection, let alone something as intimate as a kiss. The doctor had seen him with other women before and in her mind, they were just one night stand affairs to whom Sherlock didn't have any consideration or feelings for. Perhaps she was wrong after all, perhaps she didn't know him as well as she thought.

"It amazes me that you manage to drink that every day."

Joan took a minute to realize Sherlock was talking to her.

"This…" she filled a glass with the shake "has the exact amount of protein that I need, good carbs and is fat free." she concluded and took a sip.

"Exactly." he said pretending nausea "I don't know how you do it."

Watson laughed and finished her beverage.

"Here." Isabella approached them with a mug in her hands "I hope you like it." she then handed it to Sherlock.

"I am sure I will." he took the cup and smiled at her.

"Well, I'm gonna go change. My class starts at 8:30." the brunette said and left.

Watson waited until she was certain the girl was already upstairs:

"Class? You're sure she's not a minor?"

Sherlock laughed.

"She's 23." he stated and took a long sip of his beverage "and makes an excellent coffee. She mentioned that this was one of her specialties. She even offered to make some last night, but we were too busy doing…other things."

Joan rolled her eyes.

"I can imagine." she gave him a fake smile "and by the way, I'd like to thank you for doing these "other things" in silence last night."

"We did not" he affirmed "but apparently you are a heavy sleeper." the detective then placed the mug on the sink and left the kitchen.

That was one of the things she definitely would not miss. Watson glanced at the kitchen's clock. She should go now. Just when she was about to leave as well, she noticed that Sherlock had left some coffee in the cup. The doctor looked around. She hesitated for a moment but eventually drank the rest. "Good" she thought. "But it's definitely not excellent."

* * *

And that stupid kiss. Since she had left the house, Joan couldn't think about anything else. She was running for what it seemed like hours, and since she had forgotten her watch, maybe that was exactly it. The doctor, however, wasn't tired; on the contrary actually, she was running even faster. But that kiss seemed to go with her no matter where she went.

A few more miles later, Joan realized that running wasn't helping. She stopped and only then noticed how far she had gone. Maybe it was best to call a cab to take her home.

Inside the vehicle, she still saw that kiss. Such a silly, meaningless kiss…So, why couldn't she stop thinking about it? Joan considered some hypotheses: maybe that kiss had shown her a side of Sherlock she didn't even know existed and therefore thinking about it was a way of processing this new side of him. Or maybe, the kiss had shocked her and, just like any trauma, she couldn't stop reliving that moment in her mind. Watson was watching the people through the taxi's window. They looked so… normal. And suddenly, she got herself thinking about Sherlock again. He was, unquestionably, the most abnormal person she had ever met. Maybe that was it: such a normal gesture like a kiss was just incoherent to Sherlock's persona. The doctor liked this last hypothesis and decided to enjoy the ride back home.

The cab parked in front of the brownstone and Joan promised herself to never run for that long again. It had cost her 35 dollars!

Watson was already on the stairs that gave access to the house when she spotted Isabella. The girl, who was leaving, greeted her with a smile.

"I thought I heard you say that your class started at 8:30." Joan said confused.

"I know." the girl replied "But Sherlock…distracted me and I lost track of time."

The ex-surgeon knew very well what the brunette meant by "distracted me".

"And it took almost two hours?" Joan asked.

"Well, he's very good at…distractions."

Watson who, by then, was growing tired of those metaphors preferred not to comment on that. Isabella understood that as her cue to leave.

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Joan" the girl finally climbed down the stairs "maybe I'll see you any other day."

"Yeah. Maybe." the doctor agreed and opened the door before her.

"Training for the marathon, Watson?" Sherlock heard her coming in and asked from the living room.

Joan stepped towards the place where the voice was coming from.

"Making jokes…I see that Isabella's coffee really managed to improve your mood." she teased.

"And you have no idea how much" he started "but you should know that since you had it too."

Joan considered denying that she had in fact drunk the coffee but that was pointless.

"Well, I'm pretty sure I didn't have the same coffee you did."

Sherlock smiled at her implications and decided to reply:

"You don't have to be jealous, Watson. I am sure that your coffee is just as good as hers. Perhaps even better" he gave a step towards her "so, if one day you want to, I'd be more than happy to try yours."

They were very close to each other by now. And both of them knew they were no longer talking about coffee. Joan finally backed away:

"Unfortunately, I believe you'll never have the pleasure." she said and left.

Just when things seemed to be getting back to normal…Damn coffee!

**We'd like to thank our beloved cousin who's been bugging the hell out of us to do so….here it is: Thank you Natália Teixeira Franzoni for reading our fanfiction! Hope you're happy now! Hope you guys liked it! Stay tuned for more!**

**Até a próxima!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello ladies and gentlemen! (though I do have a feeling we have way more ladies than gents…well, anyway…) Ok, so chapter 6 is up and as usual we hope you all enjoy it:**

"So, how are things?"

Joan always hesitated in answering that particular question. And although Dr. Candace would always begin her sessions with it, Watson always seemed a little nervous in answering it.

"Good." the ex- surgeon decided to use her usual reply.

"And what about your week with Sherlock, is everything okay?"

And then there was that one. If "how are things?" would always be the first question, then "what about your week with Sherlock?" would always come second, or at least, so it had been since Watson started to work with the detective.

This question, just like the first one, made her feel nervous, even more perhaps. Not that she didn't know what to answer, but Joan never really knew what Candace saw beyond her words.

"Yes." the doctor again chose to go with the shorter answer "we're investigating a new case now."

They finally had a new case! And Sherlock finally had something to do. As a matter of fact, he was doing it at that very moment. The detective already had five books under his arm but they didn't seem to be enough. He kept staring at the bookshelves, reading titles, looking for that one that would contain exactly what he needed.

"I think you are in the wrong section." a voice echoed from behind "the criminology titles are kept upstairs."

Sherlock immediately recognized that voice and especially that accent.

"Allistair!" the detective turned to greet his friend. They exchanged a shy hug and then broke apart.

"So, what brings you to my humble bookstore?"

"Yours?" Sherlock asked and took another book "last time I checked, you were just an employee."

"Very funny." the older man didn't mind the joke "I have to pay the bills, you know how it is."

"Actually, I have no idea. I have a wealthy dad, remember?" Holmes spoke while searching for a vacant desk. Allistair laughed at his friend's comment.

"And how is he by the way?" the old man asked already regretting his question. He knew how the relationship between Sherlock and his father was.

"There!" the detective pointed to one of the desks in the back, where a boy leaned over some books seemed to be studying.

"He is fine, I suppose. Our communication has now been restricted to emails and occasional text messages. I must confess that I don't think I would be able to recognize his voice if I heard it." Holmes answered with a certain sense of humor, which made his friend feel more relieved.

They finally reached the desk Sherlock had spotted.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock tried to get the kid's attention, but he apparently didn't hear him.

"Excuse me?" the detective repeated a little higher than before. Still no reply.

"EXCUSE ME!" this time he practically yelled. Some people nearby looked frightened and the boy literally jumped out of his chair. He had headphones on and swollen eyes. Clearly, he had been sleeping.

"What do you want, man?" the teenager asked still recovering from the shock.

"In this particular moment, that piece of furniture." Sherlock pointed to the desk. "And I intend to use it for its right purposes unlike you, who clearly seemed to have confused it for some other type of furnishing, you know, that one commonly placed in bedrooms with a mattress on top…" Holmes paused for a moment "the shape and the size of both, however, are quite distinct, and yet, you managed to mistake one for the other. So, I highly suggest that from now on you pay more attention. Some future confusions might be a little more traumatic."

The boy heard it all in silence and then finally grabbed his things:

"You can have the table, jackass!" he said and left.

Holmes sat looking satisfied: "He got all moody only because I woke him up."

"And then I woke up."

The therapist made some of her notes:

"So, you dreamed about a case?"

"Yes!" Joan confirmed "it was a case Sherlock and I were investigating…of course in reality it turned out to be totally different, but still…" Watson reflected "What do you think? Maybe I'm getting too involved in all of that?"

"What do you think?" the doctor made the same question to Joan.

"I don't know." Watson was genuinely confused.

"Dreaming about what we live is not something unusual. In fact, it's very normal. A lawyer will probably dream about a trial, a teacher about the application of a test…In your case, given your current situation, dreaming about cases and crimes might become more frequent than what you imagine. You've got nothing to worry about."

That made perfect sense. It was perfectly normal for her to have those kinds of dreams.

"Unless…" the therapist said suddenly "there is something more to that dream that you don't want to tell me about."

"So, tell me, since you haven't answered my question yet, what are you doing here?" Allistair took one of the books "and reading History books?

"I am doing research to be more accurate" Sherlock spoke "I don't have the intention of reading them all."

The detective would open a book after another and flip through the pages very quickly.

"Don't tell me you have left the police and are now working in a museum?" Allistair mocked.

"No. I am still working as a consultant for the police department of New York and all this; in fact…" he indicted the books "is going to help me to solve a case."

Holmes then directed his attention back to the pile of books in front of him and said nothing else.

"So, are you going to tell me about this case or will I have to guess?" Allistair was very curious.

"My dear friend, I'm afraid you would not be able to." Sherlock then stopped his reading "I will tell you, but remember, the information I'm about to share is highly confidential."

"You can tell me. You know that whatever you share with me is strictly confidential."

Of course she knew that! But that wasn't the problem. Joan simply wasn't ready to know what her therapist would say if she knew about the entire dream, let alone how she would interpret it.

Watson thought for a moment. Maybe her interpretation wouldn't be what she was imagining. Maybe the dream with Sherlock had been a metaphor for something else. Maybe she should tell the truth…

"Joan?" Candace called her after a long period of silence.

"There's nothing else to tell." The ex-surgeon preferred not to risk it.

"If there was anything at all, I'd tell you."

"I don't believe you!" Allistair exclaimed.

"So, you're telling me that there is a serial killer on the loose in the city and he's killing his victims using the same torture instruments from the medieval times?" the older man was in shock.

"Not the same instruments precisely. That would be impossible. What he does is to build new ones based on the instruments used during the Middle Ages." Sherlock clarified "and he noticeably has a preference for the ones used during the Spanish Inquisition."

The detective then grabbed one of the books.

"Here." he pointed to an image "this one was found in the crime scene of his second victim."

"How many people has he already killed?"

"Three. So far." Sherlock said with an air of condolence.

"Oh, God!" Allistair was horrified.

"Now, answering your question, I am here reading these books so I can get familiar with all these instruments."

Allistair didn't seem to follow.

"And how getting familiar with them is going to help you?"

"As I mentioned before, this guy builds his own weapons in order to kill his victims. He has a fixation with it, actually. The instrument found along with the first victim, for instance, it was almost a perfect replica. And as you can see…" he pointed to another picture "these devices are not exactly the easiest things to make. Ergo, if you wish to build them, you need to know them." Holmes opened another book before continuing "this guy did his homework. He knew the exact type of wood, the right type of metal…"

"So?" the older man still looked lost.

"So, he wants to use them. All of them. And, in his mind, he will only succeed once he manages to make a perfect copy."

Allistair would listen attentively.

"However, a large number of the materials used in the past are hard to come by these days, some are not even made anymore meaning that our killer has limited options concerning where to find them."

Sherlock finally faced his friend:

"So, just in case it's still unclear, what I do plan to do is to stay here as long as necessary, observing and studying all the details in these pictures until I find an instrument which materials can still be found nowadays and can be supplied by any store in New York."

The detective concluded and directed his attention back to the books. Allistair envied his friend's determination sometimes.

"Hold on a second." the older man remembered. "I think I might have something that can be useful."

He then stood up and disappeared among the shelves.

"Here."

"What is this?" Joan asked grabbing the paper sheet and pencil that Candace had just given to her.

"It's an exercise." the therapist went back to her chair "you only have one more week with Sherlock right?"

"Six days, actually." Joan corrected.

"Right." the doctor agreed "that's why I thought it'd be interesting for you to do this. As the final step in your journey with him"

Watson was curious and nervous as well. She only hoped she wouldn't have to draw anything.

"I'd like you to write on that sheet four words that best describe your experience with Sherlock" Candace explained "they can be nouns, verbs…write whatever represents your time with him, what it means to you."

Joan froze. Four words? She was supposed to write them now? Just like that? Out of the blue?

"Do I have to do this now?"

"I'd like you to finish it by the end of our session." the therapist answered calmly "but, don't worry. We'll continue to talk and you can begin whenever you feel like it. You don't have to rush yourself, ok?"

Watson had the sheet of paper in one hand, the pencil in the other and no clue about what to write. "Ok, Joan. It's just four words. How hard can it be" The doctor thought. So, what best described her experience with Sherlock?

"Horror?" Holmes said taking what Allistair had brought him "you brought me a horror book?"

"Just bloody open it!" the friend ordered and Sherlock obeyed.

"I know it's just fiction, nothing compared to your History titles…"Allistair said sarcastically "but it has great pictures."

The detective was amazed. In every two pages, there was at least one image of a different medieval torture instrument. Some were photographs, others were drawings…But every single one of them was large and well detailed.

"I never read the book...but I figured it might help you."

"Thank you." Sherlock said genuinely "when we catch him, I'll give you a percentage of the credit."

Allistair laughed and returned to his seat, facing his friend.

"You look good." The older man commented "the rehab did you some good."

The detective said nothing. He was too immersed in his new book.

"Where's the girl? Joan ,right? Wasn't she supposed to check on you the whole time?"

"She had an appointment." Sherlock said without taking his eyes off the pictures "and she only has to check on me every two hours."

Allistair smiled at the memory of Watson.

"She's a good girl" he paused for a second "she worries about you."

"I worry about him." Joan affirmed "I know he's fine now, but what happens when I'm gone? I don't know if he's ready to be alone."

"That's your job." Candace pointed out "It's like that with every client. You always think they're not ready, or they need more time…but sooner or later, you got to let them go."

Watson exhaled:

"I know, it's just…" she didn't manage to finish her sentence.

"It's different this time, isn't it?" the therapist was the one who fulfilled the gap "Sherlock is different from any client that you ever had."

Joan remained in silence, which normally meant she consented.

"I knew that since the first time you talked to me about him" Candace remembered "there was something in the way you would speak of him, a glow in your eyes…"

The ex-surgeon didn't seem to understand the other woman's point.

"What are you trying to say?"

"I think only you can know that" the therapist replied "you can tell herself Sherlock is just another client, but you know that's not true."

Joan took a moment, trying to process, trying to understand what was going on.

"Are you trying to say that I might have…feelings for him?"

"I'm not trying to say anything." Candace disagreed.

"But, do you?"

"Of course not!" Sherlock exclaimed "she is living with me for the past weeks and I sort of have accustomed myself of having her around. But that's it. I always worked alone. I don't need her."

"I know that." Allistair agreed "but I didn't ask if you are going to miss her help in your cases."

Sherlock was confused.

"And what else could I possibly miss?"

Allistair laughed.

"You really can't see, can you? Whether that or you're the best actor I've ever met in my life. And I've met a few over the years…"

Holmes stared at his friend:

"I believe I am not following your line of reasoning here."

Allistair smiled:

"You might not need her. But you certainly want her around."

Sherlock opened his mouth to counter argue, but the older man carried on:

"And I don't care why. Maybe not even you know" Allistair paused "I know what you think. But not everything is logical and rational."

Sherlock was slightly irritated. And his eyes didn't hide it. He hated when people would try to analyze him and worse when they would be wrong.

"EVERYTHING is logical and rational. People just prefer to pretend it's not." the detective started to collect his things from the desk "I do not need her. I do not want her around. And I most certainly will not miss her."

Holmes got up abruptly with his many books and finally took the one brought by Allistair.

"Thank you for the book." he said and left without saying goodbye.

"Well, I think this is it." Candace stood up "so, I guess I see you next week, right?

"Right." Joan agreed and also stood up "thank you for your time."

The therapist smiled and they both walked towards the door. When Joan was about to leave tough, Candace remembered the exercise:

"Did you do it?" she pointed to the folded paper in Watson's hands "the four words?"

The ex-surgeon handed her the sheet:

"I think so."

"Thanks." the therapist took the paper "see you next week."

Joan nodded in consent and left.

Dr. Candace closed the door and only then unfolded the paper sheet:

_**I will miss him.**_

* * *

Watson had just locked the front door and was heading to the kitchen, when she noticed that Sherlock was already home.

"So, how was in the bookstore?" she asked "found what you were looking for?"

Sherlock was sitting on the floor in the living room with all of his books opened, but his mind was somewhere else.

"Kind of." he answered "and how was the therapy? Learned something new about yourself?"

Joan was already in the kitchen but she managed to hear him:

"Kind of."


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi folks! We're back and we just wanted to thank you all for the 101 reviews! We're blown away by this number and we can only hope that you guys will keep it up! Thanks again! Let's go:**

"Sherlock?" Joan called while shutting the door.

The place was strangely dark.

"Sherlock?" the doctor called out for him again, a little apprehensively this time. Nothing.

Watson tried one of the light switches, but it didn't work. Odd. She remembered seeing light inside the other houses in the neighborhood, so it couldn't be a blackout. She could be wrong though. The doctor then walked slowly to one of the windows located in the living room to check if the house in front of the brownstone had power. When she was halfway, however, something prevented her from continuing.

"Watson…" an agonizing voice echoed from the couch.

Joan immediately ran to it.

"Sherlock!" she exclaimed desperately "what happened?"

The doctor was trying to see him, trying to see if he was hurt or something of the sort. The detective, however, wouldn't move or say anything at all.

"Are you okay?" she asked already losing her calm.

"Watson…" he finally spoke, but in such a low tone that it was almost inaudible.

"What is it?" her voice tried to hide her concern.

"I…" he pulled her closer "…am…so, so, so…" Joan had her face practically glued to his by now "bored."

"WHAT?" she immediately backed away.

"I think I may die of boredom." he continued with that suffering tone.

"I can't believe you!" Joan stood up abruptly "I was almost…" she took a deep breath "I thought something had happened, that you were hurt or…"

"No, Watson!" he interrupted "this is much, much worse. I am here in this sofa for the last ninety nine minutes doing absolutely nothing! One more hour, and my brain will start to atrophy."

"I'm pretty sure you don't have to worry about that." she kept a serious voice "and why didn't you answer me? I called you twice when I got in!"

"I believe I was too immersed in my own well of boredom that I wasn't able to hear you."

"Oh, please!" now she was irritated "don't be so dramatic!"

"Dramatic?" he asked outraged "look around you, Watson. It's almost nine o'clock in the night and we have no power!" he stated the obvious "I can't read, do research, watch my TVs, listen to the police radio…I can't even practice with my padlocks!" Sherlock said in frustration "you know, I must say that until this moment I have never realized how dependent I am of electrical energy."

Joan finally decided to speak:

"But what happened anyway?" she asked but didn't wait for a reply:

"The other houses look okay."

"That's because they have generators." Sherlock explained "my dad, however, refused to install one in here. He said this property was not worth the investment."

The detective concluded and decided to finally sit. Watson, who until that moment was standing, also sat on the couch by his side.

She was calmer now, but it was still possible to notice some traces of nervousness in her.

"I swear I didn't mean to scare you this time." he said as a way to apologize.

"I know." Joan smiled "I think I was the one who overreacted."

They remained in silence for a few seconds.

"Well, I know of something we can do that doesn't require electricity."

"If you are referring to sex, I still think it would be more fun if we could actually see each other."

The doctor rolled her eyes.

"I'm not referring to sex." she said, tired of repeating that over and over again "I'm NEVER referring to sex."

"Which is a shame, by the way." Sherlock added "because, given the current circumstances, sex would be a great distraction."

Watson decided to ignore the comment.

"I was going to say that we could talk."

Sherlock laughed.

"I know you hate talking, but…"

"I do not." he cut her off "I simply can't understand the point in sharing my thoughts and experiences with people who are clearly not interested in what I have to say and will only listen to me due to their necessity of talking about their own thoughts and experiences once I'm done."

"I am interested in what you have to say." she tried.

"No, you are not, Watson. You just pretend to be because it's your job."

Joan inhaled.

"Why do you always have to be so resistant?" she asked and carried on "you know what I think? I think deep down, you don't like conversations because you are afraid of them. You are afraid of revealing a side of you that you so desperately try to hide."

"See?" Sherlock pointed out "you don't need me to have one of your "conversations"."

Way to go, Joan! The doctor thought. She should've known by now that that was the worst way to get something out of him. Sherlock hated when people would try to analyze him, especially when the person doing it was her.

"Sorry." the ex-surgeon said "I know that you hate when I do that, but…" she paused for a moment "we only have four more days together so I thought we could just…" she used her kindest tone.

"Fine, Watson!" Sherlock cut her off "you are allowed to ask me one question. One. And then, we'll spend our final four days without talking, even mentioning a personal subject. Deal?"

Joan knew that was the best she could get.

"Deal."

One question…She had to be wise. Watson reflected for a few minutes.

"Thirty more seconds and our deal is off." Sherlock tried to rush her but Joan already knew just what to ask:

"Why do you always push people away?"

Clever! Holmes thought. She could've asked anything about his father or even about Irene. A specific question which its answer, equally specific, wouldn't tell much. But no, she had been smarter, more generic. She had asked about people. All of them and why he would always push them away. Sherlock wished he had never come up with that bloody deal.

"You promised you'd answer." Joan spoke before his silence. Sherlock took a deep breath and said:

"I push people away…" he hesitated "…because every time I let them get too close, they ended up disappointing me."

The silence filled the living room. Joan had no idea about what to say, or even if she should say anything at all.

"Thank you." those were the only words she could articulate.

Sherlock didn't reply and the silence made his way in again.

The two remained sitting where they were, without looking at each other. And even though they knew they wouldn't be able to see anything, they didn't dare.

"Can I borrow your cell phone?" Sherlock asked breaking the stillness.

"Why?" Watson questioned already taking the device out of her pocket.

"Because mine just ran out of battery." he didn't wait for her consent and grabbed the phone from her hands. Joan said nothing. With that, she was already used to.

"Who are you calling?"

"To the electric company." the detective answered while dialing the number.

"But I thought you had called them already."

"And I had. Thirteen times before my cell ran out of battery." he pushed the button to make the call "the guy who I talked to said they were already working on the problem, but that was forty minutes ago and this is New York." Sherlock was eagerly waiting with the phone glued to his ear.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed.

"What is it?" a worried Watson asked.

"The line was busy." he handed her the phone. "I think I'm not the only desperate in the neighborhood."

Joan laughed.

"Come on, it's not that bad." she tried to cheer him up "I'm sure that in fifteen minutes or so they will have solved the problem and you'll have your precious power back."

"May God hear you, Watson! May God hear you."

"I thought you didn't believe in God." Joan said surprised.

"And I don't. But in times like these I wish I did."

The doctor laughed again. She knew he was being serious about the situation, but it was still funny.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Joan exclaimed "Today I went to that bookstore where your friend Allistair works and he told me that you stopped by one of these days and that you two talked."

"And did he say about what we talked?" Sherlock asked suddenly, maybe a little too anxiously.

"No." Joan found his reaction a little odd "he just told me that you talked. Why didn't you tell me?"

The detective was relieved that his friend hadn't mentioned anything about their conversation at the bookstore. But Watson was asking too many questions and he couldn't risk it anymore:

"For the same reason you didn't tell me that your friend Angie is trying to hook you up with the "super hot" friend of her cousin." the detective changed the focus to her.

"You read MY text message?" Joan couldn't believe it.

"I had to read it." Sherlock stated innocently.

"You "had" to read it? Which part of "this is my phone" you don't get?" Watson was now holding the device on his face.

"Well, for your information, I had to read it because you forgot YOUR cell phone when you went for a run yesterday morning." he started to explain "I didn't want to, but it could be something important, something related to your mother, an emergency…" he numbered "I had no choice."

Joan tried to look madder at him than she really was. After all, for the past six weeks the word "privacy" had become a term she no longer knew.

"At least I learned my lesson: I'll never forget my cell again." she affirmed mainly to herself and didn't say anything else. Sherlock also didn't say a word.

Watson was starting to agree with him about the importance of electricity in their lives when:

"So, are you going to go out with him?" Sherlock was the one who broke off the silence.

"What?" Watson didn't seem to follow.

"The super hot friend of Angie's cousin. Are you gonna go out with him?"

Joan had to fight back a laugh because she was still trying to look angry.

"I don't think so."

"Why not?" Sherlock was interested.

"Because if I went out with every guy that Angie sets me up, I probably wouldn't have time to do anything else."

"She knows that many men?" Sherlock asked with a playful tone in his voice and Joan laughed.

"Men that she judges ideal for me, yes she does."

Sherlock hesitated for a moment about his next question, but something (curiosity maybe) made him ask it anyway:

"And what's he like?"

"Who?" she didn't understand what he meant.

"The ideal man for you. What is he like?"

Watson laughed.

"Well, if you had asked me that fifteen years ago, I'd say that the ideal man had to be tall, intelligent, have beautiful hands, be romantic, but not mellow, had to have a great sense of humor, make at least the double of money I do in a year…well, you know, basically what every woman would say…" she paused for a moment.

"But…" he predicted the continuation.

"But…now is not fifteen years ago." she stated.

"What's changed?"

"I don't know…" the doctor reflected "I think back then I was too picky. And many of those things don't seem so important anymore."

"Are you talking about the beautiful hands?" Sherlock joked.

"No. I still want those." she replied also joking.

"And what about you?"

"Well, I agree with the double of money…"

Joan smiled but didn't insist. She knew he wouldn't answer that one. Maybe because he didn't want to or maybe because he didn't even know how.

"But, who knows, maybe Angie got it right this time." Sherlock brought that up again "you should go."

Watson laughed, not at what he said but at him saying it. Sherlock Holmes giving relationship advice? That was, at the very least, funny.

"I don't think I should." she disagreed "and besides, Angie might even be right about him being the ideal man for me, but I'm certainly not the girl of his dreams."

"And how can you be so sure? Sherlock was curious.

Joan smiled but soon replaced that expression for a more serious one.

"Look at me" she began "besides being a traumatized ex-surgeon who needs her mother's approval in everything she does and pretends not to hate her job, what else am I?"

Sherlock looked at her, but didn't see any of that.

"You are beautiful."

He said those words before even thinking of saying them. Now it was too late to take them back though. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to do that. His vision had already gotten used to the darkness, so he could see her. Not in every detail and color, but he could see enough to know that "beautiful" was the poorest of adjectives there was to describe her. And suddenly, he wanted to kiss her. And the worst part was that he wanted to kiss her just to kiss her. There was no logical reason or rational motive. It was just desire, feeling. Sherlock almost like instinctively leaned forward. He didn't give himself time to think about what he was doing. This time, he didn't want to. Joan just waited. She knew what he was about to do and she couldn't deny him. This time, she didn't want to. Among them, there was only silence, hesitation and the waiting.

Their lips were about to touch when suddenly the power came back on.

"Thank God!" Sherlock backed away as quick as he could and stood up: "I think you were right about the fifteen minutes." he said with his head down, more of embarrassment than due to the clarity.

"I have to admit that your company made the situation less unbearable."

Joan said nothing. She was not able to say anything. She just stood up as well and headed to the staircase. How could she have been so stupid?

"I'm glad I could help." she finally spoke, but without hiding the sarcasm. "I think I'm gonna take a shower now, so you'll finally be able to have some fun." she concluded and started to climb.

"Good night."

Sherlock couldn't look at her. In that moment, the only thing he could do was to curse himself mentally for being such an idiot. First, for trying to kiss her and then for pretending nothing had happened.

"Watson." he called and noticed she stopped walking.

"Good night." he said and decided that for that night only he would remain an idiot.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello everyone! We're so amazed by the number of reviews for the previous chapter! Thank you all so much (and probably a special thanks to the Super Bowl as well!) This chapter was added in the last minute and it works as a hook for the next one, so it will be short, but good (I mean, at least we hope it will be good). It's not really up to us to decide that so we're gonna leave it at your capable hands:**

It was just another typical Wednesday at the bookstore. The place was practically empty which normally happened at 2:20 in the afternoon. So Allistair had decided to spend his time organizing the Art section- not because it was in fact messy, but because that was his favorite. He knew all the titles by heart and had already read almost all of them.

The old man was arranging some books in the lowest shelf when he noticed the presence of someone standing behind him. He knew who that was without even looking.

"Need another book?" Allistair asked and only then turned around.

"Let's say I do." Sherlock tried with a smile, but clearly showing he was worried about something.

Allistair smiled too and stood up.

"Let's find someplace where we can talk, shall we?" the older man suggested and went past the detective who followed without protesting.

* * *

"So, you almost kissed her?"

"Well, that depends on what your definition of "almost" is." Sherlock didn't quite answer the question.

They were sitting there for almost half an hour and that was just another of the many not quite answered questions. Allistair laughed:

"What happened exactly?"

"Exactly?" Sherlock hesitated for a moment "I don't know if I can be that precise."

Now Allistair burst out laughing, as if he was holding that since the beginning of their conversation:

"If you don't want to talk about it, why did you come here?"

Holmes remained serious. He knew there was no way he could talk about it without actually talking about it:

"I just thought that you could guess most part…" the detective joked and his friend smiled:

"Sherlock…if you came all the way here just to hear me saying that that "almost kiss" meant nothing and that you don't care about that girl…it's fine, I can do that. I am an actor, you know? I'm good at lying…" Allistair paused to see if he had his friend's attention "now, if you came here to hear me saying what I really think about this whole situation, then I guess you don't have a choice but telling me what really happened."

Sherlock gazed at his friend and considered getting up and leaving. He, however, stayed:

"What really happened was that last night I almost kissed my sober companion." Holmes said, this time without hesitating "and I have no idea why!"

Allistair could see the frustration in the other man's eyes and for a moment he felt sorry for him. Sometimes being so rational and logical only complicated things.

"I came here because I thought that you could help me figure it out." Sherlock was finally honest and Allistair could see that.

"Well, I have a couple of hunches…." the older man began "but I'm afraid you're the only one who can do that."

Holmes didn't hide his disappointment.

"The way I see it, you have two options…" Allistair spoke again "you can pretend that nothing happened, stop thinking about it and in three days she'll be out of your life forever or…" Sherlock was listening attentively "you can put your rationality aside and then try to find out what your really feel for this girl before it's too late."

"And what happened to option number three where I get to keep my rationality, she continues to help me solve crimes and nothing changes?"

"Well, I think in your case, that option is no longer available." Allistair answered and stood up.

"I have to get back to work." he stated approaching Sherlock "but, don't you worry. You are the best detective in the city, I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Allistair placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and then started to walk away.

"Allistair!" Holmes called out after a few seconds of silence. The older man turned to face him.

"What happens once I figure it out?"

"Then, I think you'll need another book."

Allistair said and continued to walk.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello guys! We're so sorry about yesterday but that wasn't our fault! Apparently there was technical issue with the website. We tried to post the chapter five times last night and none of them worked. Thank you all for the heads up and we hope you like it:**

Diego Rodriguez. His alibi was pretty solid, but Sherlock was convinced that he had something to do with the murder.

Besides Diego's, many other photos were spread across the living room floor, forming a semi-circle which center was occupied by Sherlock. Every single one of them represented a suspect who could have committed the crime. Holmes just needed to find out which one was guilty.

The detective was very focused on that particular case, but that hadn't been enough to prevent him from remembering the conversation he had with Allistair two days ago. After leaving the bookstore that day, Holmes was willing to follow his friend's advice. He, however, had gotten that call from Gregson about the murder and since then he hadn't had time for anything else but to find leads or interrogate suspects.

Maybe it was better that way. After the "almost kiss" incident, nor him or Watson had mentioned anything about it again. Maybe it was better to just leave it alone...

Sherlock was staring at Diego's photograph so studiously that he didn't notice when Joan climbed down the stairs.

"I'm going out." she stated and went to grab her coat.

"Great. Because we're out of milk." he said without looking at her "I just finished the last bottle five minutes ago." he raised his empty cereal bowl up still concentrated in the photo he had in his hands. Joan didn't reply and Sherlock finally decided to face her.

"You…" he began but the words died in his lips. The detective, however, was able to hide his astonishment and carried on:

"Are overly dressed to buy milk."

"Good. Because I don't plan on buying anything." she finally spoke while still looking for her coat.

Joan was wearing a red dress, approximately four inches above the knees that was tight enough to accentuate her curves without revealing too much. The shoes had stiletto heels which made her taller than usual. The hair was hanging loose but not completely straight. The make-up was simple and highlighted her eyes and lips.

And just like that, Diego Rodriguez didn't seem that interesting anymore.

"May I ask where are you going?" Sherlock stood up.

"Well, I thought you were the master of deduction." Joan teased.

"You have a date."

"See, it wasn't that hard, was it?" Watson decided to keep the sarcasm.

"With Angie's cousin's friend, I suppose."

Joan didn't deny or confirm as she continued her quest.

"Have you seen my coat?"

"I thought you said you wouldn't go out with him." Sherlock didn't answer her question.

"Well, I've changed my mind." she was still looking for the piece of clothing "I could swear I've left it right here!"

"Are you taking condoms or do you expect him to have them?"

"Excuse me?" Joan, who was heading to the kitchen, came back outraged.

"Well, it is obvious that you intend to have sex with him." Sherlock didn't wait for her reply and continued "first, the hair: slightly messy on purpose, of course, which suggests a wild and sexy side of you. Then, the make-up with emphasis on the lipstick that clearly makes your lips look bigger and incredibly more attractive and last, but certainly not least, the dress which, although not the tightest nor the shortest you possess, is the only red one. Color that, scientifically proved, increases considerably the sexual interest in most men."

Joan would say something if only she knew what to say.

"Well, we can only hope he's not daltonic because if he is, then this whole color thing will be pointless…"

"You know what," the doctor finally cut him off "I don't owe you any explanation concerning my personal life, but maybe you're right. Maybe I'll end up in his bed tonight…but I'm not planning on it. In fact, I am doing the exact opposite: I'm not planning on anything." she said maybe a little too aggressively "I'm tired of planning and analyzing and being rational all the time! Tonight, I just wanna go out, drink and have fun…I mean, who knows what the night holds…" Joan concluded and checked her watch.

Sherlock smiled. Even though she had tried, she had lacked conviction in at least half of her words.

"What time is he picking you up?"

Watson looked surprised.

"It's the fourth time you check your watch since you came downstairs. You wouldn't be so anxious if you were waiting for a cab." he clarified.

The doctor, however, didn't answer his question. For some reason she didn't want to give him any information about her date and the more he asked, the more she was pleased not answering.

"I cannot believe that in our last night together, you're going to go out and leave me here alone."

Joan laughed. She knew very well what he was trying to do.

"I'm pretty sure you won't miss me."

But he would. And for the first time ever, he realized that he would miss her, not only for that night, but when she was gone for good. He wanted to tell her that.

"But you are going to miss me." he said instead "this can be your last day as an investigator."

"Well, maybe I'm done with investigations." Joan affirmed and hoped he would understand what her words really meant.

Sherlock was about to reply when the bell rang and stopped him from doing so.

"You" Joan pointed at him with her index finger "stay here." she ordered and went to the door.

"Andrew!" she exclaimed to the elegant man, holding a bouquet of red roses on the other side of the door.

"I'm sorry for the delay, but the traffic was just…" he started but got distracted by the sight before him.

"You look beautiful." he stated and handed her the flowers "I didn't know which ones were your favorite, but at least these go with your dress."

Joan smiled.

"They're beautiful." she took the bouquet "I'll go put them in water." the doctor turned around only to see Sherlock approaching.

"At least, now we know he's not daltonic." he practically whispered when he walked past her.

"Sherlock Holmes." the detective introduced himself and offered the other man a handshake "I'm the client."

"Andrew." he said and accepted the gesture "Joan told me about you, she said that…"

"You have very small hands." Sherlock cut him off "I'd keep them hidden from Joan If I were you."

Andrew looked confused before that unexpected comment and gazed at his own hands.

"Shall we go?" Watson came back as fast as possible.

"Sure." Andrew said and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Joan followed him to the door and they both left.

"Watson!" Sherlock called from inside the house when they were already in the middle of the stairs.

"Just a second." Joan said to Andrew and went back.

"What do you wan.." she stopped talking when she spotted Sherlock standing in the middle of the living room holding her coat so she could put it on. Watson rolled her eyes smiling and then walked towards him.

"You left it in the bathroom last night when we came back from the precinct."

Joan remembered and put the coat on.

"Thank you." she said and remained there for a few more seconds. She was hoping that he would say something, that he would ask her to stay…but he did not.

"Well, good luck with your case." she finally moved.

"Good luck with your non-planned night."

Sherlock said and preferred not to accompany her to the door. He didn't know exactly what it was, but he simply didn't want to see her getting into a car with another man.


	10. Chapter 10

**Olá pessoal! It's us again! Before we get to the chapter per se, we'd like to inform you guys that we are approaching the end here, ok? Two more chapters and that's it! Don't be sad, we promise a good ending. Now, let's go:**

Sherlock looked at his watch for what probably was the thirty- fifth time.

It had been one hour and thirty minutes since Joan had left with Andrew, so it had been one hour and thirty minutes since Sherlock had pretended not to care.

Until that moment, he hadn't had any progress with his new case and Diego Rodriguez didn't seem so guilty anymore. Or at least that was what all the evidence indicated since the detective hadn't been able to find anything that could compromise him in the last three hours.

Now Sherlock was watching the video recorded by a surveillance camera in a local grocery store. The feed was Diego's alibi. The store was located four miles away from the apartment where the victim was found and according to some neighbors who had heard screaming and gun shots, the crime was committed between 7:20 and 7:30pm. The video and the cashier, however, stated that Rodriguez was at the place at 7:26pm. Ergo, it was humanly impossible for him to kill somebody that far away and in less than ten minutes being there shopping. Apparently the guy was clean.

That was the third time Holmes watched the footage: at 7:26:08, Rodriguez enters the establishment. He walks slowly to the first aisle and…Where could Andrew have taken her? Certainly to some place fancy. He was fairly well- dressed and since that was their first date, he would obviously try to impress her. They had headed downtown, so maybe he had taken her to…Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head. What was he doing? He had a case to solve!

Holmes rewound the tape and pressed "play" again: at 7:26:08, Rodriguez enters the establishment. He walks slowly to the first aisle, where the liquors were stored and…Did Watson drink? She obviously had never drunken in front of him, but she said she'd drink that night…Was she planning on getting drunk? Or maybe Andrew was the one who was planning on getting her drunk so he could take advantage of the situation…

Sherlock paused the video and stood up. He had to stop doing that. That footage could contain something to incriminate Diego. But he would only see that if he was focused. "So, focus." Sherlock ordered to himself and pressed "play" one more time: at 7:29:51, Rodriguez takes a bottle of cheap wine and goes to the next aisle. At 7:31:24, he grabs a chocolate bar and some jelly beans; at 7:33:17 he finalizes the shopping with a can of peas and a sack of flour. Diego pays for everything at 7:34:59 and two minutes later, he walks out already eating a jelly bean.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Sherlock exhaled and rewound the tape. Just when he was about to restart it again, his cell phone rang. The detective took the device quickly. It was probably Watson; after all it had been almost two hours since the last time they spoke.

"Hello?" Sherlock said without even checking the caller I.D.

"Holmes." a male voice was on the other end "any progress with Diego?"

"Captain Gregson." the detective stated in disappointment "no, not yet."

"Damn it!" Gregson cursed on the other side "this puts us right back at square one then."

"Square one? No, I don't believe we have come back that much." Sherlock tried to sound optimist "I still think Diego's hiding something."

"You think?" the captain didn't hide his anxiety "I need something more tangible than that."

"And you'll have it." Sherlock replied "soon."

"Well, I just hope that by "soon" you mean tomorrow morning before noon, because after that, we won't be able to hold him here anymore."

"So, we have no time to waste."

Sherlock affirmed and hung up the phone without waiting for any reply from his friend. Sometimes Gregson would only complicate things even more.

The detective went back to the video and rewatched it. And then again, and again. He did it for more eleven times and in every one of them, all he could see was a regular guy shopping in a grocery store downtown. Damn it, Watson! Why did she have to go on that stupid date tonight, the day he needed her the most?

Sherlock looked at his watch. Soon she would have to call or at least text him. Then, he would say that he needed her and, as his sober companion, she wouldn't have another choice but to come home. There! It was all a matter of waiting.

And wait he did. For 10, 20, 30, 40 minutes! Where the hell are you, Watson? Sherlock thought as he faced his cell phone's empty screen. She couldn't have just forgotten him. That was her last day as his sober companion and until midnight she was supposed to act as such. Maybe he should call. Watson had definitely left her cell on in case of emergency. If he called, however, he would look desperate and besides that, he didn't want to admit (perhaps not even to himself) that he did need her.

Holmes looked at his watch for the hundredth time. She is going to call…she always called. During those six weeks, Joan Watson hadn't forgotten, not even for a day, to call him. So, she is going to call…

Sherlock tried to prevent his mind from thinking that but it was already too late…unless she is too busy doing only God knows what with that small- hands, non-daltonic jerk. The detective immediately started to dial Joan's number but stopped after only three digits, after hearing the sound of keys opening the door.

Holmes put his cell away and waited for Watson to cross the entrance hall.

"I suppose your date didn't go as planned. Or may I say as non-planned." he pretended to be watching Diego's feed.

"Well, I see that you're okay." Joan didn't comment on her date "I was going to call you, but I was almost here…I thought you wouldn't mind a little delay…"

"And you were absolutely right. In fact, I was so concentrated in my investigations that I didn't even notice that you were gone for more than two hours." Sherlock faked.

"Found something?" Joan asked and went to him.

"Just that Diego Rodriguez likes pea."

Watson didn't get the joke, but didn't ask either. She sat on the couch instead and started to remove her shoes.

"Oh! I brought you something." she remembered and pointed to her coat "it's in my coat's pocket. It's a Swiss chocolate. Or at least that's what the wrapper says…they were giving them at the restaurant." the doctor explained "I'm not a big fan of chocolate, so…"

"Swiss chocolate, huh? It must be a pretty fancy restaurant." Sherlock went to the couch and sat as well.

Joan tried a smile, but she was clearly upset. Sherlock didn't say anything, although he had tons of questions to ask.

"I think I'm gonna die alone." Watson said out of the sudden after getting rid of those incredibly uncomfortable shoes.

Holmes had to fight back a laugh after that overly dramatic statement.

"Why are you saying that? Just because you had a lousy date?" Sherlock tried to be reasonable.

"No! I'm saying this because of me." Joan sounded disappointed "it wasn't a lousy date. Actually it was…perfect. He took me to the best Italian restaurant in the city and acted like a perfect gentleman all night. I mean, he was kind and fun and intelligent…"

"And?" Sherlock didn't seem to understand what the problem was.

"And so boring." the doctor was now frustrated "not that I expected that he would surprise me every minute, or have amazing stories to tell…I just expected he would be more like…" Joan looked at Sherlock and didn't finish the sentence, although he had already figured out the ending.

"The problem is…" she continued "I'm not eighteen anymore and I know I can't keep waiting for a prince charming in his white horse." Watson looked down, maybe because she was embarrassed "but a small part of me simply can't stop believing that he's out there and I just need to find him…"

"Or maybe he'll find you." Sherlock interrupted "I mean, if he is a prince, it is more likely that, with all his royal resources, he finds you first." the detective joked and managed to make her smile.

"If you believe in something, Watson, never give that up." Holmes placed his hands above hers "it doesn't matter what people say or how old you are…it doesn't even matter that the probability of that being real is almost zero. If you really believe, then prove you're right."

Joan who was still with her head down, smiled. That was his way of trying to make her feel better and even though it wasn't what anybody would expect to hear, it was all she needed.

"I like your hands."

The doctor intertwined her hand with his and approached him slowly. The detective didn't stop her, even though he knew he should.

She was stunning. Even more now than when she left for her date. The hair, the lips, the dress…And there they were, all the signs that Sherlock could clearly see and that Joan wasn't try to hide. He knew that he could have her right there and only God knew how much he wanted it.

This time, no electricity bad timing could stop him. And the more she came closer, the less he could think. He knew that if she crossed that safe distance, he would not be able, not even if he tried, to recover his reason.

"We can't do this." he spoke only half of an inch before that distance was crossed.

Watson let go of his hand and backed away. That was the second time she had been rejected. She was angry and embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, but we…" Sherlock began to explain, but Joan wouldn't allow it, not this time.

"You're sorry?" she got up abruptly "for what exactly? For making me look like an idiot? Or for making me believe that…" she was fighting the tears "I don't know if you recall, but it was YOU who said that we should do this! And it was YOU who spent the past two weeks trying to convince me of it…and when I finally…"

"That was before." Sherlock cut her off.

"Before what?" Joan asked with all her anger and frustration.

The detective didn't answered and the doctor was finally defeated by her own tears.

"You are a selfish manipulator bastard who uses his ability of reading people to play with them. The only thing that matters to you is to prove you're right. And it doesn't matter how many people you hurt in the process." Joan dried her tears with the back of her hand "I can't believe I was that stupid." she walked to the couch again and got her shoes. Sherlock didn't dare to move.

"I was wrong." she looked right at him.

"I will not miss you." and with those words she left.

Holmes could've prevented her from leaving, but he didn't find that fair. He stayed there, sitting on the couch and the violent noise of a door shutting upstairs was the slap in the face he knew he deserved.


	11. Chapter 11

He opened his eyes as if he had just woken up from a nightmare.

Sherlock looked around and didn't see anything besides the familiar living room. He sat on the couch and rubbed his eyes. The pair of jeans and the T-shirt he was wearing were the same from last night and indicated he had spent the night there, although he didn't quite remember when and for how long he had slept.

The watch on his wrist displayed the time: 6:07 am. Time to get up. Sherlock thought and finally stood up. He was stretching himself up when he noticed Joan's coat on the hanger near the door. "Watson." The detective recalled the events from last night and exhaled. He had been a total jackass and hadn't had the chance to explain himself.

Sherlock didn't need to think twice and started to climb the stairs, willing to talk to Joan even if he had to wake her up to do so. In the middle of the way, however, he stopped. What would he tell her? Saying he was sorry would be a good start, but he was sorry for what? There was no reason to apologize. He hadn't done anything wrong. On the contrary, actually. He had prevented something very wrong from happening…Ok! Maybe it was better to think of something before breaking into her room.

The detective climbed down and returned to his initial spot: the couch. So, what should he say? Sherlock thought about it for a while, considered his options, pondered…and only then he realized he had no idea of what to say. And worse, he wasn't very certain about what really happened last night.

Of course he remembered that silly conversation about prince charming and him trying to cheer her up….he also remembered her delicate and soft hand under his and how beautiful she looked and…

Sherlock interrupted his own thoughts and closed his eyes. "You are an idiot." And just as if he had solved the hardest of puzzles, he finally realized. He liked her. And he liked her in a way he had only liked once. In a way he had promised himself never to like again.

His first reaction was to deny it. But deny it to whom exactly? He couldn't lie to himself. The second was to try to explain, using his logic and rationality, what he was feeling and why he was feeling it. The third, after failing miserably on the second one, was to throw himself on the couch and wish he had never had problems with drugs in the first place.

But now he had to talk to her! Sherlock stood up abruptly. He had to clear things up before she was gone. The detective ran upstairs without hesitating this time around.

"Watson!" Sherlock knocked on the door.

"Watson!" he repeated.

On the third time, he decided to skip the knocking part and just opened the door. "Watson..."

It looked like nobody had ever been there before. There was no sheet on the bed or any sign of clothes. Sherlock checked the wardrobe, the drawers…nothing. He even went to the bathroom only to find it equally empty. The scent of her perfume and a piece of paper next to the mirror were the only things left of her:

"_I know I should only leave today but I didn't see any reason to stay. You clearly don't need me. You never did. I was the one who was too stubborn to realize that. You are okay and I'm sure will keep it that way. I could write you a few tips to help you stay sober or how important it is for you to keep attending the meetings…but I think you already know that. Well, anyway, it was a pleasure working with you."_

_Joan Watson._

Sherlock took the note. "It was a pleasure working with you?" She definitely used that sentence with every client. But he wasn't just another client…or was he?

The detective reread the note a couple of times. How dared she be so impersonal and…professional. If he remembered correctly, she was the one who almost kissed him last night, who almost broke their companion-client relationship!

Holmes climbed down the stairs outraged by the fact that she had left without saying goodbye and even more so by not being able to notice that she had done it. He didn't know she could be that quiet.

Sherlock was almost on the last step when he saw her coat. "She probably used the back door." The detective concluded. That was why she had forgotten her coat and why he couldn't hear her.

Holmes went to the hanger and when he grabbed the piece of clothing, something fell out of its pocket. The chocolate that Joan had brought him from the restaurant. Sherlock bent down and took the candy from the ground.

"The chocolate!" he suddenly remembered and left running.

* * *

"Captain Gregson!" Sherlock walked into the cop's office a little out of breath "tell me that Diego Rodriguez is still here."

Gregson, who was filling some paperwork, looked at the consultant.

"I hope that means you found something."

Sherlock smiled and they exited the room.

* * *

"I thought we were past this." Diego teased.

"Yeah, well, so did we." detective Bell said sitting in front of the suspect in the interrogation room. Next to him, there was Sherlock.

"I noticed, from the first time we talked, that you use many of those…" Sherlock pointed to Diego's neck "…chains. Am I right?"

"You guys called me here to talk about my blings?"

"Blings!" Holmes repeated "I knew there was a correct term for those…" the detective smiled "one of them, however, called my attention" he indicated "the smallest one. May I?"

Diego removed that particular silver chain from his neck and handed it to Sherlock unwillingly.

"Thank you" Holmes analyzed the piece for a moment "well, according to this, you, Diego Rodriguez has type one diabetes. Am I right?"

The suspect didn't seem to follow.

"So? You're gonna arrest me because of that?"

"No. We're gonna arrest you for the murder of Katherine Houston." Bell stated.

"Are you for real?" Diego laughed "and how do you plan to do that exactly? Because last time I checked, there is a tape that puts me shopping at a store in the other side of the city from where the crime was committed."

"Actually, Mr. Rodriguez" Sherlock intervened "the tape puts a guy shopping at a store in the other side of the city from where the crime was committed. It doesn't necessarily mean that guy is you." Diego laughed again but the detective carried on "I have to admit, you were pretty clever. The same haircut, the same skin color…and we all know that the images from those surveillance cameras aren't exactly in high definition, right? So, how did you do it? Did you pick a guy who looked like you or he…"

"The cashier who was working that night confirmed I was there!" Diego cut Sherlock off, clearly upset.

"And that cost you what? 200, maybe 300 dollars?" Bell asked.

"Hey, wait a minute." Rodriguez was trying to understand the situation "are you saying that I paid 300 bucks to a guy I never saw in my life only for him to tell you that I was shopping in the store he works at?

"What did you buy that day?" Sherlock interrupted and Diego, although he managed to hide it, hesitated:

"I don't know, man. Some stuff That was four days ago!"

"Do you like pea?" the detective asked again.

"What?" Diego didn't seem to understand where they were going with all those questions.

"Well, I suppose so since that was the last item you bought that night." Sherlock turned on the monitor of Diego's footage and pressed play "before the can of peas, however, you took two or three other things…" the three men watched the tape as Diego grabs the chocolate bar and the jelly beans.

"Those weren't for me." Rodriguez justified.

"So, you don't remember what you bought, but you remember who you bought it for?" Bell questioned and before the suspect could say anything, Sherlock completed:

"We could even consider the possibility of taking into account what you just said if it weren't for this…" the detective pointed to the monitor "…my favorite part."

Rodriguez's jaw almost dropped before the image of "him" eating candies.

"Or you lied to us about having diabetes, something that a simple blood test can prove, or that guy isn't you." Sherlock finished and could notice by Diego's look that he had just figured it all out.

"Oh, and for the record…" Bell added "Carl Barnes, the cashier who worked at the store that night, the guy you never saw in your life...well, apparently he saw you. Couple of times, actually. And he's being brought here as we speak" Bell paused for a moment to be sure Diego had understood it all "so, we can wait 'til he gets here and confirm what we all know…or you can hurry things up a bit and confess the whole thing. And with that, who knows, maybe we can get you a good deal."

Diego remained in silence. He didn't know if he should give in yet.

"Well, I don't know about you, but if it were me, anything would look like a better option than a federal prison." Sherlock said as his last attempt to make Diego confess.

The suspect looked at Homes, then at Bell and finally exhaled:

"What kind of deal?"

* * *

Bell had to stay there, explaining about the confession and trying to reach a reasonable deal. For Sherlock, however, the work was done.

The detective had exited the interrogation room satisfied and was now walking towards the elevators.

"Hey!" a voice called out for him "good work in there." Gregson approached him with a grin "he just accepted our deal."

Sherlock tried a smile but his friend noticed something was off.

"You just solved another case! I thought you'd be happy."

"But I almost didn't. Actually, if it weren't for Watson, I wouldn't have been able to. She deserves the credit this time."

"Really?" Gregson raised his eyebrows in surprise "well, and where is she, by the way?"

Sherlock hesitated for a moment before answering that question:

"She's left." he said. Gregson was speechless.

"Her days as my sober companion ended today." the detective explained and failed as he tried to hide his sadness.

"Well, that's a shame." captain Gregson spoke "I always thought you two made a great team." the officer tapped him on the shoulder and left.

"I just didn't think you would let her go that easily." Gregson added and turned around "I guess I was wrong." and then continued to walk until he reached his office.

And suddenly Sherlock was alone. And for the first time ever, being alone bothered him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello everyone! So, the eagerly anticipated moment has finally arrived! Are you guys ready for the grand finale? Well, ready or not, here we go:**

He may have noticed every crack and every mold stain on that ceiling. He could even tell how many times it had been repainted.

Since Joan had gone away, that was perhaps the only thing he did: lie on the couch and stare the ceiling. That was, in fact, besides eating, sleeping and his biological needs, the only thing he did.

Two days had gone by since Watson had left, since he had worked on his last case, since he had had a life!

He knew he was being dramatic, but he simply didn't care. Sherlock had allowed himself to be upset for a couple of days.

A few more minutes and his stomach reminded him that it was time to get up but Holmes was so depressed that he decided to ignore the hunger.

So, that was what his life was going to be from now on? Lying on a couch, waiting for Gregson to call then solving a case (that was, if he could solve anything at that point), coming back home and lying on the couch again? Was that it?

That sounded terrible! It was terrible! But then Sherlock realized that that wasn't too different, apart from the drugs maybe, from his old life. Before Joan, that was exactly how he used to spend his days.

So, why just now the couch felt incredibly uncomfortable? Why, all of a sudden, talking to Angus had become something practically unbearable? And what about the silence and lack of opinions that had prevented him from hearing his own thoughts?

"What did you turn me into, Watson?" Holmes asked mentally to himself, although an answer to that question wouldn't make much of a difference.

The unquestionable truth was that he had changed and even if he did not know into what, he knew one thing: he would never go back to the way he was before. He couldn't go back. He didn't want to.

Sherlock stood up determined and gave a good look at himself in the mirror. He didn't want to look, although that was the case, like he had been whining like on old lady for the past two days. "That will do." He concluded after fixing his hair a bit.

Sherlock took a deep breath. He had a coat to return.

* * *

Joan was so distracted reading that the knocks on the door startled her.

The doctor put the book aside and went to the door. She considered checking the peephole but the insistence on the knocks was enough for her to know exactly who that was.

"I was wrong." Sherlock said only a few seconds after Joan opened the door.

"If you're talking about Diego Rodriguez, then I…"

"No! I was right about him!" Sherlock stated "and you'll never believe how I figur…" the detective didn't continue and it was Joan's look that prevented him from doing so.

"Well, I think you're not really interested in knowing."

"What do you want, Sherlock?" she wasn't playing.

"If I say you, is it going to be that bad of a cliché?"

Joan kept her straight face on.

"Ok, I'm gonna try a different approach, then." Sherlock was nervous "but I'm afraid I'll have to come inside for that one. May I?" the detective asked to a Joan who was now blocking the entrance.

She reluctantly moved aside and finally let him in.

"Thank you." he said while examining the place "nice apartment…well lighted and…"

"If you're here to talk about my apartment, then…" Joan began.

"I'm not." Sherlock interrupted her, but hesitated a little before carrying on "I know that you're going to make this as hard as possible for me and if I were you, I'd do the same thing, but…"

Watson had her arms crossed in front of her chest and was staring at him.

"I was wrong. And I'm sorry." Holmes finally said "but not for asking you to sleep with me or for not respecting your decision or trying, for the past two weeks, to convince you that I was right…" he cleared his throat "I am actually sorry for not kissing you that night."

The detective approached her and placed one of his hands on her cheek. Joan closed her eyes to the touch and could feel him getting closer.

"I'm not gonna let you do this." she backed away "this is the easy way and you don't deserve it. You wanna kiss me, fine, but first you'll have to tell me why." she said firmly "and don't you dare to use scientific data or percentages…"

Sherlock smiled, but only internally. She really wouldn't make things easy for him, would she? The detective took a deep breath. He could do that.

"Do you wanna know why I want to kiss you?" he confirmed her question "well, I think most men with age above 16 would like to kiss you…"

"Sherlock!" the doctor alerted. She was growing tired of his excuses.

"I like you, Watson!" he finally had the guts "I like your capacity of keeping up, most of the times, at least, with my reasoning…" she rolled her eyes but he carried on "I like your intuition, your genuine disposition in helping, your kindness, the way your eyes glow whenever we find something on a case, I like the way you pretend to be madder at me than you really are when I make fun of your meetings, your good will in learning, your ability in listening…I like your insecurity, although I don't see why you should have it…" Sherlock approached her "I like your hair when you wake up, your scent, the freckles on your face although you constantly insist to hide them with make-up, the color of your eyes…" he approached her even more "I like your mouth and that's why I want to kiss you."

They were only a few millimeters away from each other now, something that, in the past days, wasn't that rare.

"Well, I guess we are among those 87% after all." Joan concluded and smiled.

"I thought we were not supposed to use percentages…"

Sherlock leaned and finally kissed her.

The kiss was simple, but perfect for their first one.

"The real reason that brought me here though…"he broke the kiss." was because I wanted to return you this." Sherlock held up the coat he had in his hands the entire time. Joan took it but quickly tossed it away.

"So, I guess my plan worked." she smiled.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around her waist and stared at her with questioning eyes. Did she really plan on forgetting her coat only to make him go after her? Well, that would remain a mystery for the ages because after saying that, Joan kissed him again, this time not with the same serenity. And before the kisses could become so intense to a point where they wouldn't be ceased, Sherlock spoke for the last time:

"I am glad that you're a woman, Watson."

And swore to himself that until the end of that day he would only use his lips to kiss her.

THE END.

**Well, guys that's it! Now that the story has finally come to an end, we'd like to thank you all for taking your time to read this. We really, really love to write, I mean, we could do it for a living, but unfortunately life isn't fair, so for now we're happy enough just writing fanfictions. And knowing that you guys took the time to actually read this story and not only that, but to favorite it or alert it just makes us even more thankful. You'll probably never know how much it meant to us all of your opinions and thoughts and anticipation…we are so very thankful to every single one of you (people that we'll probably never meet but who will always have our gratitude) for making this story see the light of day. We will always appreciate what you guys did for this story and, who knows, maybe we'll do a sequel… It was a pleasure writing for such amazing readers as yourselves and we hope to see you soon! Tchau!**


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